Sherlock Meets Darren Criss
by WritingGeek27116
Summary: Prompt: Sherlock and John are in America, and they get a job to find out one of Darren Criss' secrets for a tabloid newspaper. This is my first attempt and probably fail at Sherlock, so approach with caution. Ha. Labelled under Blaine because I couldn't find Darren.


**Prompt: Sherlock and John are in America, and they get a job to find out one of Darren Criss' secrets for a tabloid newspaper. **

**A/N: This was my fail of an attempt at Sherlock Holmes, he's kind of hard to write for. So yeah, Enjoy :) **

"Name?" Sherlock asked sharply, looking at the scrawny woman standing in front of him.

"Darren Criss."

"Profession?"

"Actor mainly, singer, dancer, performer. We need information, is quickly becoming one of the most popular performers in the world, any scoop we have on him will make us mega bucks."

"What's in it for me?" Sherlock questioned, pursing his lips.

"You don't need motivation, Sherlock. We all know that. We need you to find out this man's deepest, darkest secret."

"And what makes you think I'll do that?"

"Oh, you'll do it. Your curiosity always got the better of you, didn't it Holmes?" The woman knew she'd swayed Sherlock, so with a smile she strutted off to find a decent cup of coffee.

"Where is he, Sherlock?" John asked, standing up in the chair he'd settled in only minutes ago.

"The Indigo Ballroom on the San Diego Bayfront." Sherlock announced, taking less than a millisecond to the find the right location in his brain. "This was nice tea, must dash." Sherlock said to one of the ladies at the front desk, shoving the china tea cup still filled with the pistachio colored liquid strait back into her hands, she squealed as some of it splashed onto her white blouse.

Sherlock didn't seemed bothered though, for he was already shooting down the escalator and out of the glass doors before John had time to blink. "Sorry." John stuttered, running after Sherlock. John ran for a good five minutes before he caught up with Sherlock, who was purchasing a white t-shirt with **COMIC-CON 2012** printed on it in bold black lettering, underneath the words was a square picture of a eye. John frowned as Sherlock also picked up a hat with **GLEE!** on the front.

"Here, put these on now. We need to blend in." Sherlock pushed the hat and t-shirt towards him.

"Why haven't you got a tacky t-shirt and hat too?" John asked, yanking off his coat.

"When do I ever blend in?" Sherlock asked him, humor sparkling in his crystal blue eyes. With a shake of his head John un-buttoned his shirt, slipping the overly-large t-shirt over his head, he pulled his coat back over his shoulders and stuffed his shirt into one of the pockets. Sherlock took off down the street, following crowds of people as they made their way towards a large hall. John was hot on Holmes' trail, placing the hat on his heat as he observed the street around him.

Most of the street was cut off, temporary metal rails sectioning off the public from the road. Long black limozine's delivered their star-studded passangers onto a red carpet, screaming fans chanted words that to John sound like complete codswallop, they were saying stuff like "Finchel" and "Klaine". John was at a loss as to what these words meant as he struggled through the crowd, searching for his..not-really-but-sort-of-maybe-friend.

He spotted Sherlock scanning the celebrities as they walked the red carpet, searching for the one he needed. Holmes' eyes locked on a hobbitish man, wild curly mane, hot pink sunglasses shading his eyes, casual clothes. That was Darren Criss. John finally caught up with Sherlock and followed his gaze, also spotting the star.

"Is that him?" John asked, squinting a little as he watched Criss signing autographs and taking pictures with annoyingly eager fans.

"That's him. We need to get inside, let's go." They found their way to a back entrance that was blocked off by bins (which Sherlock quickly pushed out the way), and after John kicked the door down with his good foot they ventured inside. They climbed way too many stairs, Sherlock took them two at a time with ease, while Watson dragged himself up them by the hand rails, panting and sweating as they battled more and more stairs.

"Are you sure there's no elevator, Sherlock?" John asked between a huge intake of air.

"Certain." Sherlock nodded, skipping up a few stairs. With a groan John followed him, and finally they reached the top floor.

"Sherlock! There was an elevator." John whimpered, gesturing to a fully-functioning elevator that some fan girls had just stepped out of.

"I thought you might need the excersise. Don't think I didn't see you eat that last spring roll while I wasn't looking." Sherlock said with a coy grin, striding along the corridor towards a room full of chatter.

"It was just one spring roll!" John called after him in an exasperated tone.

"You were looking a little peaky this morning, is all." Sherlock said when John approached, glancing at the two signs in front of him. One of them read **ACTORS **and the other **FANS**. A minute of deliberation (and waiting for John) later Sherlock turned on his heel and followed the sign for **ACTORS**, which luckily for John meant going up even more stairs.

"Sher-"

"Shh." Sherlock hushed, holding a finger to his lips. John listened out for anything over his still racing hearbeat (he internally cursed the man who invented stairs), he could hear laughter and lots of chatting. Someone shouted "Lea, stop making out with Cory and pass the nuts would you?", John's eyebrows furrowed into a frown; who were Lea and Cory?

"Sherlock, who are these people?" John hissed in a whisper, feeling out of his depth. But then again, when _didn't_ he feel out of depth with Sherlock?

"Actors, for a little television show called Glee." Sherlock informed him, peering round the corner to look at the room where all the noise was coming from. The doors to the room were closed, so he couldn't see who was inside, but Sherlock knew Criss would be in there with his fellow cast mates.

"Let's go." Sherlock said, gesturing for John to follow him as they approached the wooden doors labelled: **Green Room**. As soon as Sherlock and John entered the room it silenced, heads turning their way as they approached their target.

" , isn't it." Sherlock asked, outstretching a hand which Darren took.

"Uhh..yeah, may I ask who you are?"

"We're not journalists, so you can relax." Sherlock told him with a smile.

"H-how did you know that?" Darren asked, instantly wondering if this guy was some sort of psychic.

"You're a celebrity, somebody in the public eye. If someone comes up and introduces themselves you can instantly assume they are either a journalist or a fan. Since I am neither you're concerned. Now, let's get down to business shall we." Sherlock clapped his hands together, gaining some order. "We need to ask you a few questions."

"O-ok?"

"Let's see, did you have many friends growing up?" Sherlock asked him, his eyes scanning over the stranger. Calloused fingers, right-handed, dress shoes, loyal to his one girlfriend, dirty nails, triangle eyebrows.

"Yes." Darren answered almost too quickly, the smallest blush tinting his cheekbones that a normal person would miss, but Sherlock certainly didn't.

"A friend other than your guitar?"

"Y-yes."

"So you were a lonely child. Taunted because of your curly hair, you grew up in San Fransico, am I correct?"

"I-"

"Of course I'm correct." Sherlock cut in, eyes meeting Criss'. "You never really had many friends, you idolised your brother, he was the man you looked up to most in your childhood, you still do actually. You're musical, always have been. You've learned so many instruments because you had nothing else to do with yourself, the kids would always say you looked like Curly Sue."

"How do you know that?" Darren asked, straightening in his chair.

"It's textbook." Holmes answered, grabbing a handful of nuts and chomping away. He screwed up his face in disgust and spat them out, "this is why I don't eat on a case, John."

"Have you been talking to my parents?" Criss queried with squinty eyes, knowing only his parents knew that stuff about him.

"Nope. You're the youngest son to Cerina and Charles, and you always been a question them..." Darren stiffened, eyeing up Sherlock like he was a bomb.

"How do you know that?" Darren asked, his voice breaking slightly.

"So, you're a lonely, bullied child living in the San Fransisco Bay Area. What did you do in your free time besides music?" Sherlock wondered out loud, pacing in front of Criss (who was still sitting in his chair).

"Stop." Criss commanded, his voice a mixture of forcefulness and pleading.

"Ah. I think we're getting somewhere." Sherlock said to John with a smile. "There was something that happened in your childhood, something you don't really talk about at all because it embarrasses you. Let me ask you this, . What did your parents think about you being so lonely?"

"..."

"They didn't like it, did they? Your brother, Charles or as he prefers, "Chuck" had friends. Lots of them, in fact. Your parents didn't understand, you and your brother were similar in so many ways that they didn't know why he was the one with all the friends. Your parents assumed it was their fault that children didn't like you, and so they began spoiling you as much as possible."

"Please stop..." Darren was looking at the floor now, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"They used to treat you to days out so you didn't spend all your time locked up in your bedroom. So, let's see. The Bay Area of San Fransisco, what could they take you to see? Well there's always the beach, what else John?" Sherlock asked, turning to the man standing next to him.

"I'm a doctor, Sherlock, not a tour guide."

"Just think. _Think_."

"Uhh..I guess yeah the beach, the theme park, the water park, maybe the movie thearte." As John railed off a list of activities Sherlock kept his eyes locked on Criss, seeing which ones he reacted to. "The circus, the skate park, the-"

"Wait!" Sherlock said, stopping John mid-sentence. "What did you say?"

"The skate park?"

"The one before that." Sherlock said with impatience.

"The Lifeboat musuem?" John asked, trying to remember which order he'd said the list in.

"No, the one after that." Snapped Sherlock, shooting a look of disapproval at John.

"Oh, the circus." John suddenly remembered, Sherlock watched Darren closely, studying his involuntary flinch at the word "circus". It was a flinch so small and controlled by Criss that John and all of Darren's cast mates missed it, but Sherlock certainly didn't.

"The circus! Ok, so you're scared of the circus?" Sherlock talked to himself out loud, glancing at Darren every so often as he wandered around the room in slow, languid circles. "No, you're not scared _of_ the circus but something _in_ the circus." Sherlock pulled out his phone and tapped in details to a Google search. Everybody in the room stayed deadly silent as Holmes scrolled through the results.

"Aha!" He shouted in truimph so suddenly that everybody in the room jumped with shock. _"The Circus de Le Clare has been performing in the San Fransisco area since 1850, the circus took a minor blow to the gut in the year of 1994 when it was reported to be using animals for shows, causing it to be closed for a period of time by The Animal Welfare Commitee, before reopening in the summer of 1995._" Sherlock read from the screen, numbers flying through his head as he worked out how old Darren would of been in 1994.

"Seven." Sherlock announced out of the blue, pointing a finger at Criss. "You would have been seven years of age in 94, which seems like a reasonable age to take your son to the circus."

"He went to the circus...so what?" Questioned John.

"It's more than just that though..." Sherlock whispered more to himself than to John, "something happened at that circus. So you go to the circus as a seven year old with your parents, you've been raised in an environment that's derived from equality. I can smell it on you. So they used animals at the circus, you can't really have liked that?"

Darren remained silent, repeatedly swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Tell me John, if you were a young boy in a crowded circus and you wanted to escape all the madness where would you go?"

"I don't know, probably to the toilet?" Sherlock grinned wide, knowing he'd cracked it.

"Very good, do you want to finish the rest off or shall I, Darren?" Darren remained silent, "You went to the restroom as soon as you saw an animal being used for a trick." Darren shivered noticeably, "Then you bumped straight into a scary looking clown, and so the phobia began."

"Phobia?..You're afraid of clowns?" John asked Criss, raising his eyebrows without noticing.

"Yes, yes he is. His seven year old self was already having a hard day, and so he had bad feelings related to the circus. Then came along Tickles the clown and it scared him half to death."

"That actually makes sense." John nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Come on John, we're done here." Sherlock turned swiftly on his heel, causing his long jacket to making a _swooshing_ sound. Holmes ran straight out of the room and down the stairs.

"Um, so we better be going. It was nice meeting you, ." John said to a ghostly white Darren, who waved him off with a hand. John took off after Sherlock, running down the stairs and meeting him finally outside the building.

"Would you like to explain how you knew all that?" John asked, a little out of breath as Sherlock pushed the bins back to where they were when they'd found them, so as not to raise any suspicion of a break in.

"His hair." Sherlock said simply, wiping his hands together as he turned and began to stride down the street, back the way they came.

"You got _all_ that from his hair?"

"Yup. When was the last time you met a happy child who had curly hair?" Sherlock asked him as they turned the corner.

"..Umm." John frowned as he realized he couldn't think of one.

"Exactly. Little children like perfection, and curly hair..I can assure you, is not perfection."

"..Did little kids used to say that about you..about your curly hair?" John thought out loud before he could stop himself.

"...Maybe." Sherlock took out his phone and dialled a number.

"I hope you've got dirty for me, Sherlock."

"Darren Criss has a fear of.." Sherlock looked around him for any object, "buses."

"Buses?" She asked, and Sherlock could hear the frown in her voice.

"Yep, there's your exclusive." He hung up on her quickly, slipping his phone back into his jacket pocket.

"You lied.." John said bluntly, turning to Sherlock.

"..Yeah" Sherlock sighed out, "I've always hated journalists."


End file.
